Will of Fire
by Unfinished Symphony
Summary: She dreams of cold nights spent chasing down someone she can't even remember, of strange words and blurred, nameless faces. Sakura yearns to remember her past, yet part of her is afraid. Afraid of who she truly is... and of what she's capable of.
1. Age 783 - Summer

**Age 783 – July 23rd**

Dazed, green eyes stared up at the ceiling.

Everything felt muddled at first, her senses dulled and her head filled with a warm yet unpleasant fog. Her throat was bone dry, her lips cracked, and as the fog cleared she became increasingly aware of sharp, thrumming pain in her stomach. _Stab wound—the weapon went all the way through. __Most of the damage was caused by the withdrawal of the blade, _a small part of her mind whispered helpfully. Her muscles screamed in protest when she tried to move, prompting her to cry out—or, well, at least _try_ to. Her voice was ragged from disuse, forcing her shout of pain to come out as a raspy murmur.

The girl's eyes roamed the room, her eyebrows furrowing as she attempted to recall anything about how she got there. The room was somewhat plain with its white walls and blue curtains that let in a few slivers of sunlight. She was in a bed—a soft one at that—with her wounds obviously wrapped and a blanket carefully tucked over her. Where was she? _Who_ was she? Slowly, she lifted her hand off of the mattress beneath her to hold it in front of her face, examining the lines of her palm with a slight frown.

"Oh! You're… _awake_?"

The pinkette's eyes darted to the left, her head turning sharply and causing her to wince as the muscles in her neck pulled uncomfortably. Standing in the doorway was a woman with turquoise hair cut to hang around her ears in a cute, fashionable bob. She wore a crisp black business suit with red accents, making her look very… professional?

However, it was her eyes, wide and blue, that drew the teenager's attention as they roamed across the girl before her with a critical stare. Blue eyebrows pinched together in obvious concern, and the girl began to wonder if perhaps she was worse off than she felt to warrant such a stare. A slight frown tugged at the corners of her painted lips and she stepped further into the room, in her hand a glass of liquid salvation that had the girl's throat throbbing painfully.

"My name's Bulma," the woman told her with a kind smile as she sat the tiny glass of heaven just outside of the injured teenager's reach. Unintentional torture seemed to be this Bulma's specialty. _Or maybe intentional, __after all you've no idea where you are,_ a cynical voice inside of her head scoffed. "I found you off the side of the road outside of town—c'mon, sit up and drink this. You must be thirsty."

_Okay_. She told herself as she took that voice and all but crammed it into the proverbial closet of her mind. _Not torture_.

Bulma's touch was gentle as she eased the younger girl up and placed several pillows behind her back. The chilled glass was pressed into her hands, and she found herself jumping slightly at the sudden sensation. This room was nice and warm, so the cold was definitely a shock.

"What's your name?" Bulma seemed to be full of questions as the girl brought the cup to her lips and began to drink like she hadn't had water in weeks. Which, considering how she's found her, that wasn't necessarily impossible. "Where are you from? I looked for any missing persons reports, but…"

_But no one is looking for you. _It hung in the air like a guillotine, looming over them both ominously.

The glass, now empty, was cradled in two trembling hands. Bulma found herself gazing into two very confused jade eyes, the child's face twisted in horror. She was young—younger than Trunks. She couldn't be more than fifteen years old. Bulma's face paled as she recalled the image of the pink haired girl lying face down in the dirt, blood splattered around her and oozing from her stomach. Bulma remembered how it looked like she was merely thrown to the ground without a care, dirt and leaves littering her clothes and skin. Who could have done such a thing to someone like her?

She couldn't help but imagine her children lying in that exact position. What if someone had done that to Trunks? To _Bulla_? She would be devastated…

"I—" Trailing off, she looked down and licked her lips. Her heart clenched painfully and she closed her eyes, unable to bear the shimmering of pity in Bulma's eyes. "I don't know…"

"You don't _know_—?"

The girl shook her head of pink hair and Bulma's heart broke. Blinking back tears, Bulma reached out and ran gentle fingers through the surprisingly soft strands. It hung around her chin and despite how broken she looked right then, it stood out gorgeously against her pale skin. She was just a girl. Lost and scared and confused, all alone in an unfamiliar place…

"For now, let's call you—_hm_." Bulma pursed her lips and gave her hair a gentle tug with two fingers, her lips tugging up into a soft smile when the girl's green eyes flickered open and up at stare back at her. "Flower. You've got such unique colouring, you know. Like a flower."

Once upon a time, Yamcha had told her that the Briefs family had the most unique hair colours he had ever seen. Oh, if he could see this girl now.

"A… flower…?"

_Sakura!_

Searing pain sliced through her skull and she cried out, dropping the glass in favour of grasping at her forehead. The pain hummed through her head and down her entire body, pulsing in rhythm with her heartbeat as tears began to burn in her eyes. Images trickled into her mind, faces and voices she couldn't quite grasp, like trying to grab water in her fist.

_Hey, hey! Sakura! Look what I can do!_

She knew that voice. She _knew_ that she knew that voice—yet she couldn't picture their face, couldn't remember what they were to her. A friend? An ally? Ally in what, exactly?

_Ugh! That's so disgusting, Naru—_

"Flower?" Bulma's hands found themselves against the girl's shoulders, eyes wide and her heart hammering against her ribs. She was obviously in pain by the way she'd curled in on herself, fists in her hair and muffled sobs tumbling from her lips—but if she wasn't careful she would pull open her stitches. Rubbing soothing circles on her back, Bulma waited as patiently as she could for her muscles to loosen up, for the trembling to stop. "Are you—"

"…Sakura."

Blinking, Bulma pulled back a little in surprise, her lips parting with a little gasp. Shaking fingers slid out from being tangled in her short hair to fall back against the bed. The older woman quickly swept pink fringe from the girl's eyes, her own expression mirroring Sakura's confusion. "Sakura?"

"My name," Sakura told her, looking up with haunted eyes. She looked so scarred, so absolutely broken, as she pointed up to herself. "I think it's Sakura."

* * *

"_Please just wait!"_

_The despair she was feeling was nearly crushing her as she stared at his retreating back, her breathing heavy and her legs trembling like jelly as she stumbled after him. This was wrong. She hadn't trained so hard to stare at his back, she didn't pour her very soul into getting stronger just for him to walk away again. Away from their village, from his friendship with Naruto…_

_Away from her._

_Her fingers trembled and she grit her teeth, her eyes burning with angry tears as she stomped forward. She wasn't some little girl who cried over her lost love—not any more. She was the Fifth Hokage's apprentice, damn it! She was one of the strongest women in the world. She was Haruno Sakura, and she wouldn't be left behind! Not again! Not ever!_

"_Damn it, Sasuke! Will you just stop walking away for one second and listen to me?" Damn her voice for cracking right then, damn her shaking shoulders. She felt so weak when it came to him—she felt desperate and worthless. He inspired such guilt in her that it nearly ate her alive, it nearly brought her to her knees every time she remembered how he'd walked away and left them. He had forced Naruto to grow up so fast, too fast, and he had left them a three-man team. _

_Nothing but a broken picture on her nightstand._

"_Stop following me, Sakura."_

_He always sounded so impassive. He never seemed to care, he never seemed to notice everything she gave up to protect and help him—and not just him, but Naruto. She loved them both—her boys were her life, she'd finally accepted this truth—and while Naruto had adopted her as his girl, Sasuke continued to act as if they had never mattered in the first place._

"_I won't stop," she snapped, clenching her fists against the way her heart fluttered when he did stop walking away from her. "I won't ever stop fighting for you—neither will Naruto. Sasuke, we're a family—"_

"_My family is dead." His voice had a dangerous edge to it, causing Sakura to pause for a moment as the chill from his words alone washed over her._

"_I know…" Sakura stepped forward slowly, her hand reaching out despite the alarm bells ringing in her head at the way his shoulders tensed. Her instincts screamed at her to turn and flee, to get away—but she simply ignored those warnings. She couldn't give in, not now. Not after she had finally found him, out in this unknown region, not after the weeks of traveling alone, dodging rogue-nin left and right. She had to bring him home._

"_Sasuke, I know the Uchiha clan is dead—but we're not. Naruto and I… we love you. I love you."_

"_You don't know the first thing about love, Sakura."_

"_I love you," she repeated defiantly, her eyes glinting in the dim moonlight as she stood straighter, raising her chin and clenching her fists. "I refuse to leave. I will follow you until you finally come home."_

"_Sakura…"_

_He turned and she found herself staring into the familiar, swirling tomoe of his Sharingan. Sakura's heart leapt into her throat and she realised belatedly that she may have to fight him to bring him home. Could she do it? Even if she could bring herself to fight him, was she strong enough? Even when they were Genin, he had far outclassed her—and Tsunade's training or not, he was still a very dangerous opponent._

"_Thank you."_

_Then he was in front of her, so close that she could lean in and kiss him, and the swirling of his tomoes made a thick fog settle over her brain. Feelings, thoughts, faces… it was all lost to her. She couldn't remember her name, she couldn't even remember his name—it hung there on the tip of her tongue, tantalizingly close to the surface. Vaguely she noted the sensation of something stabbing her, she noted the way her chakra bubbled to the surface to begin healing herself. It was all lost, however, when the only thing she could see was red swirled with black, and then everything began to dim._

"… _But I need you to forget."_

* * *

"Sakura?"

Bulma's voice snapped Sakura awake immediately, and the first thing she noticed was that she felt the cold of tears streaming down her cheeks. Confused, Sakura reached up to wipe at her eyes, silently berating herself for crying. She didn't even know what had caused it—her head had that fogginess again, that sensation she had first awoken with. At first, Sakura had chalked it up to pure exhaustion of the days after losing so much blood, but now a small piece of her began to suspect it was part of her amnesia.

"Why are you crying?" Bulma asked, her voice low with worry as she sat on the bed beside the younger girl. Sakura briefly wondered if her own mother was anything like Bulma, all sweet smiles and caring gestures. Not just anyone took a wounded stranger into their own home, after all.

"I think I was dreaming," Sakura confessed with a grateful smile as a warm plate of food found its way to her lap. Gingerly she lifted a biscuit and nibbled at it, green eyes watching Bulma open up her laptop—Sakura was still fascinated with it—and once again began searching for any missing pink-haired teenagers. Swallowing, Sakura placed her remaining food back on her plate before shifting slightly, grimacing at the sensation of her stitches pulling in protest. "Any luck?"

"Nothing so far," Bulma shot a disappointed glance toward her before returning back to her search, and Sakura picked the biscuit back up. She didn't want to offend the one who had so kindly taken care of her. "I'm branching out to some neighbouring cities. I can't fathom that you'd be too far from home, y'know?"

"Ahh," Sakura intoned with a small nod, taking another bite of bread and smiling at Bulma's delighted nod. This woman and _food_. "So, _doctor_—when do we think I can move around?"

Smirking at her sarcastic drawl, Bulma rolled her eyes and shut her laptop before standing off the bed. "Well," the older woman turned and took her plate, placing it on top of her computer and lying them on a nearby nightstand. "Why not try it for a bit today? Your wound is healing well, after all."

_Almost too well_.

Sakura nodded in her excitement and eagerly began to pull the blankets off of her body, grinning when Bulma hastily took over. After a few moments of deep breathing, Bulma helped Sakura stand on her own feet, her hands on the girl's waist and shoulder to support her.

Sakura's knees shook and her stomach twinged angrily, yet Sakura felt elated to just be standing for a change. Lying in that bed, wasting away—it felt so wrong to her. She was supposed to be constantly moving, always active. She didn't understand _why_ that was the case, but it just felt… _right_.

Bulma, keeping her arm around Sakura's waist, began to lead her from the room. As she paused to open the door, Sakura took that moment to glance in the mirror hanging on the wall—and promptly frowned at her appearance. Her hair was, for the most part, in place. Bulma liked to brush her hair, always cooing at the softness of it. But the dress…

The dress she wore was a little big in the chest and hip department, but it was modest and comfortable as it hung off her shoulders—however, a part of Sakura noted that she didn't care for white against her hair and skin. A part of her felt she belonged in black or red, or preferably those two colours together.

Bulma, noticing where her attention was drawn, gingerly lead Sakura from the room before speaking. "I couldn't leave you in your dress," she admitted quietly, her smile small and sheepish. Sakura briefly wondered how Bulma had kept such a calm head about finding a teenager bleeding out on the side of the road. "I put you in one of my old ones."

"I was wearing a _dress_?"

"It was a cute little cheongsam," Bulma told her with a nod, eyes focused ahead as they turned a corner in the hallway. She sent a wry little grin toward Sakura as she opened another door in their way. "Red and white—most of the time red and pink don't match, you know, but I thought it was a good combination."

"…It doesn't _sound_ cute."

Bulma couldn't help but laugh at the way Sakura scrunched up her nose at the idea.

* * *

If Bulma's eyes were big and blue, then these eyes were essentially the ocean—as big and as blue as one could get. They shimmered with pure intrigue as they stared at her from across the dining room table. The child watched her with no short amount of awe, her little face scrunched up and her whole body leaning across to get even closer to this new addition to her home. The stare was unnerving—mostly because Sakura couldn't remember _how_ to deal with children, but a part of her knew that on some level she'd dealt with some before. She couldn't remember the right words, the right tone of voice, the right smiles to give.

So she settled for furrowed eyebrows and an uneasy grin.

Apparently the expression on her face was enough to clue Bulma in, because she laughed and set a bowl down in front of the small child with a _tsk_ sound. "Bulla," she admonished, unaware of the way Sakura glanced between them at the name. Bulla and Bulma? _Seriously_? "Stop staring. It's rude." As Bulma turned away, Bulla turned her attention back to the pinkette across from her.

After a few moments spent deliberating with herself, the little girl shot Sakura a meaningful look. "Hey, Sis?"

_Sis?_ Sparing a quick, confused glance toward Bulma, Sakura cleared her throat. "Y-yes, Bulla?"

"What's your name?"

"Sakura."

"Sa-koo-ruh?" Bulla's mouth twisted across this new word uncomfortably, yet Sakura found the way she struggled with the word somewhat endearing. A small piece of Sakura actually had to resist melting with a small _coo_ of joy at the way the girl tried to say her name. She was young, possibly four or five years old, and she was like a miniature clone of Bulma. With longer hair, of course—but still, the resemblance was positively uncanny.

"Sa-koo-_rah_," Sakura corrected with a small smile, cupping her face in one hand as she leaned forward.

"Sakura." Nodding to herself, as if congratulating herself for saying it correctly, Bulla turned to look at her mother who was laughing into her cup of coffee. Her face was the picture of grave seriousness, contrasting with her high-pitched voice and her small face, which sent a whole new wave of giggles through Bulma. "Mom?"

"Yes, dear?"

"Can we keep her?"

* * *

It was nearing late afternoon when Sakura finally mustered up the courage to ask just why exactly Bulma was preparing a feast for an army when there were only three of them there. After all, there was no way Sakura could eat it all, and Bulla was a small child. Bulma's body type clued Sakura in that there was no way she could eat that entire mass of food by herself—not unless she was some sort of superhuman.

"Ah," Bulma sighed, bringing her fist to gently tap herself against her temple. "I can't believe I forgot. This is for Trunks and Vegeta."

"Trunks?" The capital letter was there, she knew, yet the word wasn't exactly what she would normally call a name. Bulma, Bulla, _Trunks_? Seriously. "Vegeta…?"

"My son and husband," Bulma affirmed, snickering under her breath at Sakura's incredulous stare. The names were strange, yes, but she had a joke running with her family and damn it, she was sticking to it! "Trunks is a little older than you—I _think_. He just turned seventeen this year."

"I see…" Sakura murmured, somewhat ashamed of herself for not thinking of Bulma having a husband. She'd merely assumed that it was just Bulma and Bulla—and while they were the only two people she had seen here, it was silly of her to think that someone as beautiful as Bulma would be alone. "Where are they?"

As if summoned by her words, the door opened loudly and Sakura turned, eyebrows raised as two men entered the room, both sweating and sporting various bruises and cuts.

The first man to enter was obviously the elder of the two, despite his short stature—he had gravity-defying black hair that stood straight in spikes atop his head that easily added half a foot to his height. His skin was a darker shade than his wife's, a healthy tan, and his muscles actually made that piece of Sakura that seemed to inherently know about her physical wellbeing cringe. His shoulders were unhealthy, the muscles in his arms rippling as he merely walked past her and sat, crossing his arms with an impatient scowl on his face. His eyes, as black as his hair, swept over to stare at her for only a moment before sliding away again.

The second was such a stark contrast in colouring that Sakura found herself blinking rapidly. Long wisps of lavender hair pulled back in a ponytail that brushed against his shoulders. Blue eyes that matched his mother's colour but his father's intensity. His skin, though darker than his mother's, was still lighter than his father's—a comfortable tan, like someone who spent some time inside but also went outside regularly. He, too, was extremely well-toned, yet he was leaner than his father. He, unlike the one she assumed was Vegeta, took immediate notice of Sakura and paused on his way into his seat, staring back at her with a thoughtful gaze.

And then he smiled.

"Sakura, right?" His grin was crooked as he tossed a glance toward his father's scoff, shrugging and looking back at her. He settled down in the chair on her left and leaned forward, his expression almost as eager as his sister's had been. Which was, Sakura had to admit, adorable on several counts. "I'm Trunks. It's nice to finally meet you—mother hasn't shut up about you since she found you."

Bulma sniffed indignantly as she began setting plates down on the table, turning her nose toward the ceiling and obviously fighting off a smile. "I haven't talked about her _that_ much," the older woman playfully grumbled, sitting down on Sakura's other side.

"_Sure_," Trunks grinned, piling his plate with more food than Sakura thought was healthy.

Sakura, thoroughly embarrassed, struggled to ignore her burning cheeks as she grabbed a more decent amount of food on her plate. "It's nice to finally meet you, too, Trunks—although I'm afraid I may have to witness you suffer a stomach rupture."

At the pinkette's sly look, Bulma broke into a fit of giggles. "Oh—_ahaha_—I f-forgot—"

"Hah. Hah." Trunks deadpanned, raising an amused eyebrow toward his mother before he glanced back at the newest addition to their family. His eyebrow raised further as he stared, realising that Sakura was now mimicking his expression with a slight quirk to her own lips. "Someone obviously wants to be a doctor when she grows up."

Bulma only laughed harder, missing the thoughtful look on Sakura's face.

* * *

"_Sakura, you have asked to become my apprentice," Tsunade began, her honey eyes glinting dangerous as she stared across the desk at the young girl standing before her. "This isn't something I'm going to take lightly. I plan on taking all of… this—" Tsunade paused to gesture to Sakura, smirking at the indignant blush that spread across the girl's face. "—and turn you into the strongest kunoichi this village has ever seen."_

_Swallowing the urge to snap at the older woman, Sakura merely clenched her jaw and nodded. "Thank you for the opportunity, shishō. I am in your capable hands."_

"_I'm aware," the blonde drawled, tapping her fingernails along the wood of her desk. Her expression turned thoughtful after a moment and she frowned, leaning forward in her chair. "Tell me, Sakura… do you know the four laws of being a medic-nin?"_

"_Four laws?"_

"_Hmph. There are four laws that we as medic-nin must follow at all times." With a nod Tsunade rose, crossing her arms and stepping around her desk to circle Sakura. "First clause: No medic ninja shall ever stop medical treatment until the lives of their party members have come to an end. Second clause: No medic ninja shall ever stand on the front lines. Third clause: No medic ninja shall ever die until they are the last of their platoon."_

_She came to a stop to stand in front of her charge, her arms crossed and her eyes shining with a razor edge. Her lips quirked up as she raised one hand, tapping her index finger against the purple rhombus settled in the center of her forehead. "Fourth clause: Only those medic ninja who have mastered the Strength of a Hundred Technique of the ninja art Creation Rebirth are permitted to discard the above-mentioned laws. Is that understood?"_

"_Yes, shishō." Sakura nodded, swallowing the lump in her throat. "I understand."_

"_Your training begins today. In three weeks time, you will begin training at the hospital. It will be tough, you'll hate me some days, and you will pour blood and tears into this training—but it will be worth it. I promise you."_

"_If I can stand beside them from now on, shishō, it will be."_

"_Good."_

* * *

"How can they do that?"

Sakura was sitting on the windowsill, kicking her feet back and forth as she watched the two men of the house spar in the yard. The pinkette was intrigued, she couldn't lie—they were fast, and somehow shooting lasers (real, _actual_ lasers!) from their hands. It was incredible, so incredible that Sakura couldn't pull herself away from the window for easily two hours now—much to Bulma's dismay.

"They're—" Bulma paused, huffing as she considered telling the girl the truth. She was growing on Bulma, that was for sure, and despite Vegeta's disinterest, Trunks seemed to trust her well enough. He often hovered around the younger girl, teaching her things in an attempt to make it easier for her to deal with her amnesia. Bulla loved Sakura like a sister; she called her "sis" and more often than not could be seen within three feet of the teenager.

Sighing, Bulma folded another shirt and glanced over. "They're Saiyans."

"Saiyans?" Sakura repeated, turning to look at the bluenette with raised eyebrows. She tilted her head and regarded the elder woman thoughtfully, humming under her breath. "I'm afraid that whole… not knowing issue is upon us again."

"Snarky little brat," Bulma murmured affectionately, rolling her eyes and going back to her laundry. Of course Sakura would take this admission well. She didn't know any better. "Saiyans are an alien race—not native to our planet, to Earth. They're all warriors."

"Hmm, that explains the fighting, then."

Bulma smiled softly and nodded, glancing over and snickering at the amazed expression on the teen's face. Sakura was so facisnated with Trunks and Vegeta. She and Trunks were closer than Bulma thought, having been afraid Vegeta had rubbed his antisocial tendencies off on their son, and she couldn't be happier. Sakura needed someone to look out for her, to help her learn the rights and wrongs.

With a muffled snort, Bulma picked up her basket and left the room, thus leaving Sakura to her watching.

Besides, what girl didn't like watching two sweaty, pretty men fight, hm?

* * *

**And thus begins my first fanfiction here. To give you guys an idea, both universes are kind of AU. It'll get explained as it goes, so all you need to know right now is that Sakura arrives with them in Age 783—which is 16 years after the defeat of Cell. Buu Saga hasn't happened, so instead it's been 16 years of peace (aside from a few villians here and there, little stuff.) **

**Hope you enjoyed! I'll update whenever I manage to kick out the next chapter.**


	2. Age 783 - Autumn

**Age 783 – September 28th**

Sakura's cheek twitched as she stared down at the dining room table, her eyebrows raised into her hairline.

Two pairs of eyes stared back at her, their hues a stark contrast despite their matching glows of admiration. One pair Sakura knew like the back of her hand—a bright blue that hid darker shades of cerulean and dancing flecks of silver along her pupils. Those eyes often trailed after her every move, shimmering like little gemstones whenever Sakura lifted something particularly heavy with no effort, typically followed by a sentence beginning with "_hey, sis_…"

The second pair was what had both surprised her and—though she would never admit it—somewhat frightened her. They were a dark onyx that showed little glimmers of grey in the light; at first a tiny part of Sakura likened them to Vegeta's own inexpressive gaze, but as soon as the notion came to her it was thrown violently out the window. These eyes were far more expressive, dancing with absolute joy and curiosity in a delightful way.

"See, Pan?" Bulla squealed with excitement as she bounced toward the confused pinkette, her tiny hands immediately gripping Sakura's left hand with a surprisingly fierce hold. Sakura's heart leapt into her throat at the contact, that same warm feeling spreading through her body as an involuntarily smile twisted at her lips. "Sis has _pink hair_! And she's prettier than _mom_!"

"Hey!" Bulma cried playfully from her place by the stove, smirking at Sakura's bewildered expression as she finished off her third plate of gyoza. Her smirk seemed to morph into a softer smile as her gaze flicked down to their joined hands, her eyes warm but unreadable.

"Yeah!" The small, raven-haired girl—Pan, she assumed—cheered with her arms above her head, jumping up as if in some kind personal victory. A very _high_ jump. One that had the child's face level with Sakura's own; and while Sakura's one-hundred sixty-one centimeter height was no where near _tall_, it was pretty high for a kid. A very _young_ kid that could not be any older than four or five years old.

Then again, Pan's father was out in the yard sparring with Trunks, tearing up the lawn with superhuman kicks and explosions. (Bulma was incredibly unhappy about this, if her aggravated twitching at the sound of each explosion was anything to go by.)

Oh. And they were flying. _Flying_. Yeah, they could fly.

Sakura snorted to herself as the small girl plopped back to the floor, giggling as she fell onto her backside. Pan was undeniably cute, with her chubby little cheeks and short raven hair. She even wore a little bright-orange martial arts gi, which made Sakura's stomach twist just slightly at the idea of Pan sparring like Vegeta and Trunks did.

Sakura's lips quirked as she knelt down, easily slipping her hand out of Bulla's grasp and then wrapping her arm around the younger Briefs child. The smaller girl all but cooed in delight, snuggling into Sakura's side and attempting to wrap her tiny arms around Sakura's stomach in a hug. Sakura's smile widened and she gave the girl a gentle squeeze before reaching out with her free hand, offering it to Pan.

"Hello," Sakura greeted with a warm grin. "I'm Sakura; it's nice to meet you. What's your name?"

Pan's face blossomed into a glow of absolute euphoria at the greeting, her eyes shimmering as she reached out and took Sakura's much larger hand. The raven-haired girl's cheeks flared in a sweet, delicate shade of pink despite her bright smile.

"Hi, Sakura," Pan murmured, her eyes trailing to the floor as she scuffed her foot against the floor. Her smile turned shy as she glanced up through her fringe. "I'm Pan. Ah—Son Pan. It's… n-nice to meet you, too."

"Hey, Sis?" Bulla smiled brightly and gave Sakura's side another squeeze, dragging the pinkette's attention down to her face. Her eyes were bright with delight as she glanced between the older girl and her best friend, her lips quirked up in a mischievous little smile. "Can Pan be our sister, too?"

Sakura hummed, caught off guard as her wide green eyes flicked back and forth between the matching hopeful expressions. With a sharp little intake of breath, Sakura glanced up to see Bulma's expression, noticing that the older woman was watching with rapt attention. It would seem that the question had caught her off guard as well.

The pinkette's eyebrows pinched together in mute disbelief at the question, at the mere notion—Bulla actually felt that Sakura was her _sister_? She knew that Bulma tried to include her as much as possible, but Sakura couldn't even _remember_ having a family…

A _family_.

Sakura hummed under her breath as she looked back at the youngest of the Briefs family, her eyes wide. She'd never even thought that Bulla would actually consider her part of her family—that anyone would consider _her_, a lost little girl with no past, part of their family. The pinkette's lips twitched as the two girls seemed to deflate at her hesitance to answer, their hands fidgeting with sudden nervousness.

"Well," Sakura murmured after a long moment, her expression soft. "It'll get really confusing if we call call each other sis."

Bulla and Pan seemed to pause in their nervous movements, eyes wide as they stared at the older girl, their faces scrunching up as they contemplated her point. She was right and they knew it, but they had no idea how to remedy such a situation.

Sakura chuckled and reached out to ruffle Pan's pixie-cut, her fingers threading through the coarse strands playfully. Perhaps it was a Saiyan trait to have such a coarse texture to their hair—well, she _assumed_ that Pan was also part Saiyan, like Trunks and Bulla, seeing as her father could do all the same things they could.

"Maybe we should try nicknames, then?" Sakura asked, chuckling quietly at Pan's squeal of protest as she reached out to do the same to Bulla. Bulla's indignant squawk made even Bulma chortle.

"Nicknames?" Pan questioned, her lips twisted into a bemused frown as she tapped her foot against the tiled floor. She crossed her little arms across her chest, her eyes downcast in thought. She was just too cute for her own good. "How could we make nicknames for each other, though?"

"Yeah! Bulla, Pan, Sakura—they're not very easy to make nicknames for…" Bulla's chirp of agreement made Bulma snort into her fist as she turned away from the trio to pay attention to her cooking.

"Maybe…" Sakura murmured to herself as she tapped her fingertips against her lips, sighing as she thought of as many fun plays on their names as she could. Bulla had quite the point though: their names were not the easiest to make puns on.

"Chi." Pan squeaked, bouncing up and down as she grabbed Sakura's free hand in her own. "Bra-chi, Pan-chi, and Sa-chi! My grandma's name is Chi-chi, and when I was little great-grandpa called me _Little __C__hi_ because he said I was a lot like her. She's really _feisty_ is what Grandpa says, and that's what Trunks says about you, too!"

"Does he, now?" Sakura muttered darkly, tossing a glare toward the back door where she could still hear sparring in the back yard.

"Those are weird names," Bulla mused in a quiet voice, raising an eyebrow at Pan's suggestions as she shared an amused glance with Sakura. The nicknames weren't exactly _terrible_. But still… "Why is my name _Bra_-chi, though?"

They missed Bulma's flabbergasted laugh as Pan chirpped back with, "That's what grandpa says your name actually is!"

"My name is _Bulla_," the young blunette snorted, rolling her eyes with an exaggerated sigh of annoyance. She didn't quite get the humour over her and her brother's names. Pan's family liked to laugh about it, and her mother seemed to giggle about it, too, but Bulla still couldn't quite catch on. "Bul-la. Goku will never get it, though—right mom?"

Bulma laughed outright, bending at the waist to clutch at her stomach, snorting loudly between her chuckles. Sakura had no idea who this Goku was, no idea why it was so funny that he called her _Bra_, but for some reason it sent the pinkette over the edge. Her laughter was contagious as she flopped onto her back on the floor, sending the two little girls beside her into a puddle of giggling females.

This was how Trunks and Gohan found them a few minutes later, matching expressions of confusion on their faces.

"Er, mother?" Trunks asked hesitantly, his blue eyes wide as he exchanged a glance with a stunned Gohan. His gaze rolled over the other three in the room who were also doubled over in laughter, his lips twitching at the picture of Sakura on the floor with two small children draped across her chest and stomach. Weakly she reached out, giggles still creeping out from between her pursed lips as her fingers made exaggerated grabby-hands in his general direction.

"So this is her, I'm guessing?" Gohan snorted, crossing his arms and leaning against the counter with a small grin. "Pink hair, really short—oh, and you were right! She _is_ kind of cute."

Bulma and the children only seemed to laugh harder at Sakura's flushed, frowning face.

"And you just earned me a punch in the gut," Trunks rolled his eyes with a lopsided grin directed toward Sakura, strolling over to reach out for her hand to give her a firm tug up. He and Gohan snorted at the dull squeals of two children rolling off the pinkette and onto the floor. "Hey, you. Are we playing the damsel in distress toda—_oof_!"

"I love it when a man is a total misogynist," Sakura grumbled playfully, pulling her fist away from his ribs. She rolled her eyes when he clutched at himself, arching his back as if she'd actually wounded him. Such a total drama queen. "Oh can it, you ham."

"Did you just call him a _h__am_?" Gohan asked with an incredulous laugh, walking past the bickering duo to pick up the two girls still sitting on the floor with matching pouts. With an easy grace that made Sakura feel a pang of jealousy, the black-haired young man lifted the two girls up onto his shoulders. "I'm Gohan—Pan's dad. Nice to finally meet the infamous Sakura."

"_Infamous_?" Sakura turned green eyes to stare at Trunks, her knuckles cracking menacingly as she stalked toward him.

"Aw, man…" Trunks grumbled, knowing exactly where that fist was headed. "Thanks a _lot_, Gohan."

* * *

_I've always considered myself to be a true ninja. I was convinced that I was in love with Sasuke, and I would always lecture Naruto—like I was any better than him… but I always seemed to be hiding behind them._

This dream was incredibly hazy, a blur of names and faces, of places she knew she should remember, but couldn't. Trees with sunlight flickering through the leaves, dirt underneath her sandal-clad feet, grass crunching underneath her as she ran through the forest. The foliage was comforting, bringing her a feeling of home, of belonging. She missed this, somehow.

_The two of them risked everything to protect me. I hated the way I was. I swore then, that next time, I would make them stare at my back! That's what I vowed back then. _

Two figures were in front of her, walking away, unable to hear her silent pleas for them to wait. The ache in her heart was nearly unbearable; the mere idea of them leaving her behind was enough to tear open a gaping hole in her heart, one that threatened to swallow her whole. Hot tears rolled down her cheeks as she ran, her movements slowed as if she were running through water.

_But Naruto and Sasuke kept progressing faster and faster… so I gave up, thinking it was useless because they were just too strong. I thought I'd never be able to catch up to them. _

A boy with blonde hair and kind blue eyes stared back at her, his expression determined—yet his face and name slipped from her mind, fell from the tip of her tongue like soap suds on a plate. He meant a lot to her, she could feel that—she knew he meant _so_ much to her. But he just… faded away, disappearing into the darkness that surrounded her.

_I didn't think about it, and I put the entire burden on Naruto. I went crying to you. I held onto you, expecting you to make it all better. While I did nothing. _

She stared back at herself, her reflection's eyes overflowing with tears and a trickle of blood running down her chin. Dark blood soaked the front of her red dress, staining the material, spreading across her abdomen like some sort of cloud. It spread and spread, covering clothes and skin and eyes, until everything Sakura could see was red swirling with black.

_Nothing._

* * *

"_Atlas of Human Anatomy_? Biochemisty? NetBiochem? Transplantation? _Trauma __surgery_?"

"Why do you sound so horrified?" Sakura snorted as she rolled her eyes heavenward, opening up her anatomy textbook on the counter beside him. She thumbed through the pages to her bookmarked spot, taking out a highlighter and a blank place in her notebook. "It's just textbooks, same as you—yours are just more about the maths and sciences."

"Plate eighteen: arteries of the upper limb, torso and the vessels of the proximal thigh." Trunks read aloud from her opened spot, his eyebrow raised skeptically at her confused expression. He leaned forward and placed his chin in his palm, smirking at her as he gestured to her reading material. "Really? Fifteen years old, reading medical textbooks for _fun_?"

"We _assume_ I'm fifteen," Sakura sniffed irritably, crossing her arms. "Besides, study night was _your_ idea."

"I was kidding about the whole being a doctor when you grow up thing, y'know." Trunks rolled his eyes at her antics, giving her an affectionate flick to her forehead before he turned back to his own textbook. "You sure act like it," he snorted, grinning as she reached over to push his lavender fringe behind his ear with a spare pencil.

"You're so _weird_ about my hair."

"I hate when your fringe hangs in your face," Sakura shrugged, only slightly bothered by that mysterious quirk of hers. She knew a boy—a man, perhaps?—who had long fringe that would hang in his eyes. She couldn't remember him clearly; Sakura only remembered blurred shadows, dark eyes and hair with dark clothes. Trying to remember made her head hurt and her chest ache with old loss, a loss that she couldn't even recall.

"Ma'am, yes ma'am," Trunks murmured playfully, his expression softening as he caught the way her face fell. Her amnesia was a sore spot in their home and Trunks had taken it upon himself to try to lift her mood whenever she would get upset. He was well acquainted with the way her eyes darkened, a dull viridian as opposed to the vibrant emerald he was used to.

"Hey, it makes it easier to read when my hairs not in my face anyway."

Trunks gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze and Sakura gave him a bright smile in return, her entire face lighting up with gratitude. With a quiet snort, the duo hunkered down to study up, occasional sassy remarks being tossed back and forth.

* * *

It was November when things changed. Drastically.

Sakura had been elbow-deep in soap suds, cleaning the entire kitchen as somewhat of an impromptu gift to Bulma. It was only fair that Sakura attempt to return her generosity—the older woman had graciously welcomed her into her own home and taken care of her, yet Sakura had merely taken and never given back. She'd begun feeling worse and worse about merely sitting around reading all day; not to mention her habit of following Bulma and Trunks was often interrupted by their own routines, and she hated feeling like a burden.

So, Sakura had taken it upon herself to clean on this overcast morning. She'd bleached the grout in between the tiles—was that _blood_?—and even cleaned the entire refrigerator, top to bottom. The chairs were placed on the table in the living room as she worked, staying out of her warpath as she tidied up. So engrossed in her work, she'd missed the sound of the door opening and closing again, missed the sound of footsteps behind her.

Sakura was justifiably confused when she found her fist a mere inch from Vegeta's face.

"_Oh_!" Sakura squeaked, positively mortified at her knee-jerk reaction, her face burning as she immediately dropped her hand and stepped back. Pressing herself against the counter and as far away from him as possible, Sakura swallowed the lump in her throat. When had she turned around? It was nearly instantaneous, leaving her somewhat winded and frazzled. "Vegeta—I ah… you startled me…"

The only expression on his face was the slight widened state of his eyes. His lips were pressed into a firm line, his arms by his sides, his entire body rigid as if expecting her to swing again. Obsidian eyes trailed over her face, searching, before they darted down to her right fist—still clenched as if she were ready to throw another punch.

Still, he said nothing to her explanation, and Vegeta's stony silence made a bead of sweat trickle down her temple in anticipation. Sakura found her muscles tensing as if for a fight, and she nearly slumped to the floor in shock at herself. A _fight_? Why would she be fighting him? How did she know _how_ to fight?

After another awkwardly tense moment, Vegeta crossed his arms and frowned at her, his entire being becoming oppressive with his obvious displeasure. Sakura suddenly felt claustrophobic despite the spacious kitchen.

"I—I just finished up here. Excuse me."

She would never admit that she was running away as she closed the door to the refrigerator and walked from the room.

* * *

"Who are you?"

Sakura jumped at the sound of her host's threatening baritone, dropping her textbook and whirling to stare at him with wide eyes. His tone had been accusatory, as if she'd wronged him, and her heart sunk when she realised he was upset about her unintentional punch from earlier that morning. He must have suspected that she was some sort of enemy of his now, and a small part of her worried about the validity of such an assumption. Who was she, if she'd actually managed to catch Vegeta—strong enough to level this entire house, with lasers and punches alike—off guard?

"Stop gawking at me and answer the damn question, girl."

Frowning slightly, she gestured to herself with a free hand and standing from the grass beneath her. "I'm Sakura—"

"No. Who _are_ you?" Vegeta's arms dropped to his side and he took a menacing step forward, his dark eyes burning a hole into her very soul. She shivered and stepped back herself, her eyes wide as he followed her step for step. "Not just any human _girl_ can throw a punch with that much force behind it."

Sakura swallowed thickly and looked down at her hands, her eyes wide as she examined them. He was right—to react so quickly on pure instinct was something she knew normal humans couldn't do. She'd watched Bulma and her parents, had seen how they needed help lifting things that Sakura could lift without breaking a sweat. They were slower than she was, less graceful and louder, and part of Sakura remembered how to move swiftly and silently despite the loss of her memories.

Just what _was_ she?

"I… Look, I don't know how I did that," Sakura murmured honestly, her voice wavering with the wave of paranoid terror that gripped her heart. Was she too dangerous to keep around the Briefs family? Would she hurt Bulma next time? Or Trunks—or, heaven forbid, _Bulla_? "I didn't even hear you coming up behind me. It just happened—like _instinct_."

"A warrior's instinct," Vegeta mused, causing Sakura to glance up at him with wide eyes, a gasp falling from her lips. "Even without your memory, your body sensed a threat and reacted to protect itself. The fact that you were able to stop yourself just in time tells me that you have extraordinary control over your own body."

Sakura let out a muffled yelp of surprise, flinging herself back into a somersault to avoid Vegeta's sudden flurry of punches. Surprised at herself, Sakura stumbled back a few steps before twisting to avoid a kick aimed at her ribs, throwing her own fist out toward Vegeta's face. The Saiyan sidestepped her easily, catching her wrist in his hand and outright smirking at her, obviously pleased with what he'd seen.

"I will train you."

"I—" Whatever she had been expected, that wasn't it. Yelling, accusations, perhaps for him to kill her? Anything besides an offer to help her control whatever she was. "E-excuse me?"

"You will become my pupil," Vegeta told her, his smirk only widening at the very prospect of a new challenge. "Your reflexes will become dull if you don't train regularly. We will begin training at dawn, every day, until noon. And if you show me you can handle it, we will train with Trunks as well. The two of you will be a good challenge for one another."

"Yes, shishō," Sakura answered automatically, the foreign title rolling off her tongue unbidden. It seemed wrong to call Vegeta by such a name, like someone else deserved the title, yet she couldn't remember their face. She remembered a violent temper and honey coloured eyes, but they blurred and slid away from her before she could truly ponder those details.

"Shishō?" Vegeta repeated, his eyes narrowing at her as if expecting it to be some sort of insult.

"It's a title for a master," Sakura admitted quietly, frowning at herself as she looked back to her hands. How did she know that? "From where I'm from, at least. I think. I remember it."

Vegeta, seemingly pleased, merely nodded to himself before he turned and left her alone with her thoughts.

* * *

**Thank you for the reviews, guys! I'm taking it all to heart as I write, so don't ever feel like I don't read your reviews. I always do, and I always love to see them!**

**And before anyone says anything: yes, I know I used the dialogue from where Sakura gets her Seal, but I really liked that one more than her little spiel where she cuts her hair. Sakura doesn't remember everything from her dreams, either—she remembers bits and pieces, like her love for medicine and certain key details from them. All will become clear as the story goes on.**

**Thanks again for all the reviews! They mean a lot, guys! Hope to update soon!**


	3. Age 783 - Winter

**Age 783 – December 22nd**

"She doesn't know what _Christmas_ is?"

"She doesn't exactly have memories, Goten! Remember that whole amnesiac thing?"

"But, _dude_! Christmas!"

"Look, she's really sensitive about that stuff—"

"_She_ is right _here_," Sakura ground out through clenched teeth, her eye twitching with rage as she swung her glare up from her textbook to the two older boys across the room. They had been going on and on about some supposed holiday for the last half hour, making it increasingly difficult for her to continue taking notes regarding the upper respiratory system. Goten—Trunks' best friend, she internally reminded herself over and over like a chant—had been quite vocal about his disbelief when it came to things she had no knowledge on.

_I must not kill his best friend. I must not kill his best friend. I must not kill his best friend._

Christmas, however, seemed to be the most horrifying of losses.

"Sorry," Trunks immediately shot an apologetic glance her way, his expression so genuinely guilty that Sakura positively melted. Her anger seemed to drain from her as she looked at him, all big blue eyes and hopeful smile, and a small part of her remembered someone else who could pull that look off just as well. Giving him a soft quirk of her lips to let him know he was forgiven, Sakura turned back to her book with the intention of finishing her chapter.

"Seriously, though—you really don't know what Christmas is?" Sakura didn't dislike Goten, not really. He was sweet, in his own _pretty-boy-who-doesn't-quite-know-when-to-stop_ kind of way. When they'd been introduced, he had shamelessly flirted with her (much to Trunks' chagrin,) and somehow Sakura realised she was particularly comfortable in such a friendship, all harmless flirtations and barbed jokes at the other person's expense. After meeting him, she'd dreamed of a brunette—again without a face she could remember—with a faithful canine companion at his side; Sakura and this mystery man had the kind of casual relationship she shared with Goten, and that explained her patience with him.

"No, Goten," Sakura sighed, placing her bookmark and shutting the textbook with a resolute thud. So much for studying. "What part of _no memories_ don't you get?"

_I must not kill his best friend. I must not kill his best friend. I must not kill his best friend._

"I thought it was getting better, though?" Goten questioned, leaning over the couch to peer at her face. Trunks settled down on the couch beside her, silently organising her notebooks and pencils in her preferred order of largest to smallest, aligned along the bottom left corner. He knew her too well, it would seem. "Didn't you say that you're remembering bits and pieces of your dreams?"

"That's just it," Sakura leaned back to pinch the bridge of her nose, closing her eyes as she prepared for yet another expedition down _Sakura's Lost Memory Lane_. The two young men seemed to love a good mystery, and Sakura's memories were by far their favourite one. "Bits and pieces, Goten. I remember key details—a boy with blue eyes, a woman who was training me to be some sort of doctor—" She ignored Trunks' amused snort at that. "—I remember more things physically than mentally."

"Like what?" Trunks prompted, leaning back and taking a minute to glance up and down her exposed arms. Having foregone her sweater with the heat on indoors, Sakura had taken to sitting on the couch in her white camisole, giving Trunks and Goten a full display of her growing collection of bruises. _Bruises_. Because his father had decided to train her. (His reaction upon learning about these sessions—outshined only by his mother's—had been nothing short of _explosive_.)

Glancing up, he saw Goten mimic his motion and frown as well. They all looked days old, however he knew they were from that morning at the earliest. That was something else the two of them had cataloged about Sakura—she had a strange ability to heal faster than a normal human. Little cuts would heal up in easily half an hour, bruises would fade within a day… life threatening _stab wounds_ (that his mother had told him showed signs that whoever had attacked her had _twisted the blade_) healed in only a few days' time.

Not only that, Sakura's touch could heal other people as well. They hadn't realised at first, and neither had she, since the first incident was one that Bulma was willing to chalk up to Saiyan healing. Goten had accidentally broken Trunks' nose the day Sakura had met him (and she'd very nearly returned the favour) and with one gentle brush of her fingers, his nose was good as new. That had been easy enough to ignore; however, days later, Bulla had scraped her knee outside and cried, prompting Sakura to kiss her fingertips and press them over the bleeding skin—only for it to literally fade away before their eyes.

Even if she had such healing properties, though, Trunks found his chest hot with anger at the mere thought of someone—even his own father—hitting her.

"Well, I've got a knack for evasive maneuvers," the pinkette admitted, ignoring the flabbergasted snorts of disbelief from the two boys on either side of her. Her cheeks burned with righteous anger at their (admittedly unintentional) condescending glares and she nearly growled. "Vegeta thinks that I was being trained as a combat medic of some kind—and that dream I had the other night practically solidified that for me."

"Another dream?" Goten asked, perking up. "And you remember it?"

"I don't recall her face…" Sakura trailed off for a moment, leaning forward to put the book on the table in front of her and pick up the smaller notebook off to the side. Her _dream diary_. It had been Bulma's idea after Sakura confessed that she remembered little things from her dreams that she write them down, that perhaps with time she could build some sort of map of her memories. It was mostly barren—Sakura never remembered much—but this last dream had its own page. The most she'd ever written down. "But I remember the rules she taught me. Somewhat. They don't make a lot of sense, though…"

"Did you show these notes to mother and father yet?" Trunks asked, leaning forward so he could read over her shoulder.

Sakura shook her head, tapping her finger against the paper of her diary with a frown. "First clause: no medic shall ever stop medical treatment until the lives of their party members have come to an end. Second clause: no medic shall ever stand on the front lines. Third clause: no medic shall ever die until they are the last of their platoon." She paused for a moment, closing her eyes and sighing irritably—she hated not remembering, not knowing the importance of these rules. "This is where it gets weird; I feel like I might have written it down incorrectly or something… Fourth clause: only those medics who have mastered the Strength of a Hundred Technique of the art of Creation Rebirth are permitted to discard the above-mentioned laws."

"Woah…" Goten whistled, eyes wide as he looked from the paper to Sakura and back again. "Strength of a Hundred? Creation Rebirth? Sounds pretty wicked if you ask me."

"Nobody asked you," Trunks grumbled with a roll of his eyes, a playful grin tugging at his lips. He cast a glance to Sakura and saw that same lost look glazing over her eyes, dulling them as they stared forlornly at that last sentence. Frowning, he stretched and dropped an arm around her shoulders, easily ruffling her hair. "Sakura, don't worry about it so much. Just ask my parents—one of them is bound to figure something out."

"Yeah…" Sakura murmured, somewhat distracted as she flipped the last page of the notebook and stared at a single sentence on the page. Trunks' frown only deepened when she failed to react like she normally did to his ministrations.

"_Chakra_ control?" Goten read aloud, raising a single eyebrow at the girl and startling Trunks from his reverie. "Any clue about that?"

"No…" Sakura's fist twitched as if in memory of the ground beneath her knuckles, but as soon as an image began to form in her mind it fell away, sliding back into the blackness of her past. Sighing, she closed the notebook and stood up, absently reaching over to push Trunks' fringe back behind his ear once more. "No clue. I feel so useless…"

Goten, sending Trunks a meaningful look, stood up and turned away, strolling out of the room as quietly as he could to give them some privacy. Sakura wasn't comfortable with displaying weakness in front of others—tears were pretty universally bad sign if anyone was in the room with her. Trunks had learned that it made her feel weak, and feeling weak made her angry, and feeling angry made her hit things. Or people. Whichever happened to be closer to her.

Trunks had also learned that if it was him, she didn't feel quite so weak. After she'd cried in front of him—he'd woken her from a particularly bad memory-dream that had left her feeling heartbroken—Sakura had seemed more willing to let him in when she was feeling down. Little by little, he worked past her emotional barriers, and little by little he found himself proud that he was the one she trusted that much.

As soon as he'd stood up she'd whirled around on him, pressing her face to his shirt and shuddering. Trunks pulled her close in a hug, sighing softly as he looked down, somehow confused as to how he'd become her rock in the storm that was her own confusion. Somehow he'd volunteered himself to protect her and guide her, teaching her new things and pulling her out of her depressions.

"I'm sorry," Sakura whispered after a moment, her eyes dry and the ache in her chest more bearable. As comfortable as she had always been in Trunks' arms, a small piece of her cried out that it was inappropriate to embrace another man, best and closest friend or not. Her heart belonged to another, a man that her mind couldn't recall but her heart continued to long for. Awkwardly, Sakura stepped away from him and ran a hand through her now nearly shoulder-length hair. "I don't know why I get like that."

"I don't really mind it," Trunks murmured, watching her with a look that could be described as confused longing. He smiled softly and reached out to ruffle her hair again, chuckling at her indignant yelp of protest. Much better. "What do you say we go learn _all_ about Christmas before Goten explodes in a ball of pure energy?"

Sakura smiled softly, her hand going to her chest as if to dull the hollow feeling growing there. She wanted to remember who it was that held her heart—she knew she had to have loved them with her entire being. It pained her down to her core whenever she attempted to remember, whenever she thought of them searching for her. Did her forgotten love miss her? Even a little? Was he perhaps worried?

Another flash of that dream, of the raven-haired man walking away from her and of the sinking dread in her heart that he would never come back to her, settled that internal debate.

No one was missing her.

"Sure."

* * *

"_Hey, Sakura?"_

_"Yes, Naruto?"_

_The blonde fidgeted nervously, his cheeks tinged with a light dusting of pink as he held out a small, brown paper package. It was haphazardly wrapped, more tape than actual wrapping paper, but he'd painstakingly written her name out in the best handwriting she was sure he could manage on it's surface. His blue eyes were so full of hope that Sakura actually felt guilty as she took the package, chakra-enhanced fingertips easily tearing through tape and paper alike._

"_Merry Christmas! I—ah—" He swallowed a lump in his throat as she unraveled the paper and stared blankly at the contents of the small box, suddenly feeling pathetic for such an attempt. Of course she wouldn't like it! It had to be the cheesiest present she'd ever gotten for Christmas before—she hated it, he was sure. She was going to punch him and then storm off ranting about the audacity of Kyuubi vessels—_

_Sakura's lips pressed against his cheek and all train of thought wrecked violently off the tracks._

"_I love it," she whispered almost reverently, tears glistening in her eyes as he regarded him. Sakura's chest hurt with all of the happiness swelling from her heart, pushing against her ribs and forcing tears to bubble up to the surface. Giggling softly at the dumbstruck expression on his face, Sakura turned, cheeks tinged pink, and gathered her hair up in her hands. "A little help, though?"_

_The way he fumbled with the latch was endearing, Sakura decided. The way his fingers trembled as he patted the little chain down against her neck, the way his blush crept down his neck and over his ears, brought a genuine smile to her face. He was so obviously enamoured with her, even after all this time, and Sakura felt a pang of sadness wash over her as her fingers brushed against the small cherry blossom charm dangling from a simple silver chain._

"_How do I look?"_

"… _Beautiful."_

_Why couldn't she love him instead?_

* * *

Christmas was a holiday of giving, she'd learned.

Her chest ached and her hand absently went to her throat, cupping the small cherry blossom necklace around her neck. It was one of the only things she'd kept after she'd woken up with no memory—the other keepsake being the strange hairband she'd been found with. Those two things were impossible to part with, though she had no idea why. The hairband grounded her with a mysterious sense of duty, making it impossible to part with, but the necklace…

The necklace seemed to break her heart, sending a flash of longing through her chest, and she wondered if someone she'd loved had given it to her.

Of course it wasn't the man with the dark hair, because she knew by now that the ache in her heart was from an unrequited love. However, the one with those kind blue eyes had cared for her. She could remember the love and adoration shining in those eyes in her foggy memories, in the way he watched her as she spoke, as if her words were the single most important thing he had ever heard. There was such complete and utter devotion in the way he angled himself toward her, in the curve of his lips as he grinned at something she'd said. She still had no name for him, no idea just what he was to her… but a small piece of her wondered if, like Trunks, he had been her rock. Perhaps he had loved her and been there for her while she had loved another from afar.

"Are you growing your hair out?" Goten asked, shattering the cloud of misery that had slowly crept over the distracted girl.

"Ah—I don't really know. I just haven't cut it," Sakura admitted with a shrug, one hand coming up to tug on a strand of pink hair. It was brushing barely half an inch past her shoulders now, having grown from the chin-length style she'd been found with. A small part of her seemed hesitant about long hair, and Sakura wondered if perhaps that part of her was her instinct that Vegeta spoke of. The part of her that remembered even without her mind knowing what it knew, it would warn against dangers she'd already faced.

"I like it," Trunks told her with a nod of approval, glancing up from his book on _Advanced Concepts in Chemistry_. "Long hair suits you."

"_Hey—! I heard that… likes girls with long hair!"_

Pain sliced through her awareness like a white-hot blade, catching Sakura entirely off guard. Wincing, she brought her hands up to her forehead, eyes closed tight against the onslaught of agony coursing through her system. She'd heard a child's voice just then, certain words coming out distorted, but again that part of her screamed out in despair as if to warn her. Long hair caused pain. Someone liked girls with long hair? Did she grow her hair out once to impress that person? The distinct sensation of someone pulling on her hair while she sat helplessly overwhelmed her, and she could hear worldless taunts echoing through her mind.

Why couldn't she remember?

"Sakura!" Trunks' voice was suddenly much closer to her, laced with panic as his hands grasped her shoulders, firm but gentle as he shook her. "Sakura? Hey! Are you okay?"

"Another one of her episodes?" Goten's voice began to sound as if he were underwater, garbled and far away. Frowning, Sakura struggled through the haze of pain to focus on the feeling of Trunks' hands, on the sound of their reassuring voices. She couldn't get lose in the fog—she needed to stay, to try and remember as much as she possibly could.

"Headache," she whimpered between clenched teeth, curling in on herself. Blurred pictures of a blonde girl flickered through her mind's eye, confusing emotions trailing in their wake. Hope. Friendship. Betrayal. Hate. Resignation. Admiration. This girl had picked Sakura up and helped her out of her shell, Sakura knew that much. They had a fight, they fell apart like a shattered photo being thrown from an old worn nightstand, and some part of her knew that it was their rivalry that had pushed them to become the successful women they were today. But, just who was this girl, with her more curvacious body? Who flaunted it in Sakura's face that she was flat-chested and would never—

"_Geez, Forehead, at least put on that push-up bra I bought you."_

"_I'm wearing it, Pig!"_

"Sakura?"

With tears burning her eyes, Sakura shook her head and leaned back, the pulsing pain ebbing away as the memories faded. Yet again she was left with only a few scant details, things that made barely any sense to her, but wordlessly she picked up her little notebook and began to scribble down what she could remember. Blonde hair, taunting words, someone pulling her own hair. Someone she couldn't remember liked her long hair.

Baby steps, Bulma had promised her.

Baby steps.

* * *

**To be perfectly honest, this is more of a filler chapter that focuses on Sakura learning a little bit more about who she used to be. As well as cementing it for those who are concerned that yes, despite her mind having forgotten Sasuke, Sakura is still in love with him. This is not a story where she is miraculously in love with the first male to show her attention.**

**Trunks is her best friend, and that's all she can see him as right now. I hope this clears that issue right up.**

**Now, I know the pendant didn't get mentioned in the first or second chapter, but that's both deliberate and partly unintentional because I'd forgotten I'd wanted to incorporate that design detail from ****_The Last_**** movie. I hope you guys don't mind the plot being put off a little bit in favour of this chapter, but I really felt this needed to be included in ****_Will of Fire_****, not just in ****_Iridescence_****.**

**As always, thank you so much for the reviews! They're what keeps me going!**


	4. Age 784 - Winter ( Part I )

**Age 784 – Feburary 21st**

Three months.

Three months of Sakura waking up at first light every day, trudging into an oversized shirt and some shorts, and then proceeding to roll down the stairs and out into the chill of the morning air. Three months of doing _at least_ two hundred pushups. Single-handed. Sometimes with only one finger. Three months of running around the entire Briefs family compound twenty times—a compound large enough that it could apparently house an entire _race_ after their planet was destroyed—before returning to her training. Three months of being Vegeta's student, a position that had set Bulma off like an atomic bomb.

Sakura was not a morning person, not by any means, and so this was torture enough. Add in the fact that she went outside to get the shit beaten out of her and Sakura's general outlook on her day was rather bleak. Despite this, however, Sakura couldn't bring herself to complain—in fact, she felt a sort of familiarity from her situation, the early hours and the constant bruises. She knew that the moment she said she couldn't take Vegeta's no-nonsense pace, Bulma and Trunks would put a stop to it at once, and while their protectiveness warmed her heart she couldn't help but feel an old pang of irritation.

Someone else had treated her like this once, she was sure. Like she was fragile, easily squashed like any other common flower.

Shaking off her sense of nostalgic melancholy, Sakura slapped her palms against both of her cheeks and made her way out the front door, pulling her hair back into her now commonplace ponytail. Despite that last memory she'd regained regarding her hair, Sakura had made a decision to allow her hair to grow out; a small voice in her mind, her Warrior's Instinct as Vegeta referred to it, told her that having long hair was a weakness. That her long hair put her in a horrible position, that it represented how much she'd depended on him as a person—and Sakura wanted to prove that insecurity wrong.

She was stronger than she had been back then. She would never be put in a situation where her hair would be a weakness ever again. Her teacher would be sure of it. _She_ would be sure of it.

Smiling to herself as the cold air hit her bare skin, Sakura began her jog out to the middle of the open plains in the back of the Brief's Compound where Vegeta trained her, her feet traveling the now familiar path with ease. Green eyes locked in on her mentor's position in the distance, causing her to pick up her pace, however the closer she got, Sakura realised Vegeta wasn't alone—there was another man beside him, taller and even more muscular than Vegeta was, with black hair that went in all directions instead of straight up like her teacher's. Once she was within speaking distance, Sakura slowed to a walk and steadily approached the pair, blinking up at the pair of onyx-eyed men who turned to watch her approach.

"Is this her, then?" The stranger asked, his lips stretching in a broad smile as his appraising gaze looked her up and down. He wore an orange gi that struck her with familiarity—in fact, his smile and hair, his face… his clothes… Sakura felt as if she should know him. "Sakura, right? I'm Goku! Vegeta was just telling me he was training you for the tournament later this year!"

This drew her attention away from his appearance. "Tournament?" Sakura asked, raising her brows and turning her questioning glance upon her teacher. "What tournament?"

"It's the 28th World Martial Arts Tournament, girl," Vegeta responded in his usual gruff voice, rolling his eyes as if she should have known such a thing, amnesia be damned. "It's an event where all of Earth's strongest compete, and I fully intend to have you combat-ready by then. You will enter as my student and beat this buffoon's own so-called prodigy."

"Gohan?" Goku asks, eyebrows raising as he glanced back at Sakura. His expression of incredulity irritated her for some reason, and Sakura felt as if her pride has been wounded by his unsure expression. Gohan hadn't seemed all that _impressive_ when she'd met him… "Well, sure, I think I'd like to see them go at it—but how long have you been training her?"

"It doesn't matter how long, Kakarot," Vegeta scoffed, shrugging his shoulders before looking back at his student and smirking at her bewildered expression. "She's strong for a human—fast, too."

_Kakarot? __Is that some kind of nickname?_ Sakura wondered, tilting her head slightly. Reaching up and tugging on her longer pink strands, she narrowed her eyes and fixated at the surprisingly familiar word. Vegeta had mentioned a Kakarot before, but she'd thought it was someone else, not another name for Goku. But the mention of competition made even more sense than before—Goku seemed to be Vegeta's worst rival.

"Enough chatter, girl," Vegeta's voice snapped Sakura out of her musings, his dark eyes not even glancing back at her as he dismissed her. "Get to your usual rounds—you'll be sparring with me in two hours."

"Yes, Shishō," Sakura answered with a slight smile, turning to begin her usual rounds.

* * *

_The Earth rumbled below her feet as she surveyed her surroundings._

_Ground broken across an entire clearing, rocks strewn throughout the crater, trees upheaved and lying on their sides. She could feel two eyes filled with surprise trained on her, but she was more focused on the sensation of the ground breaking beneath her knuckles, remembering the way her chakra had pulsed from her chest through her muscles in her arms into the centre of her fist. She could still feel the tingle of the huge release of energy, a pleasant and comfortable warmth. _

"_She focuses as much chakra as she can into her fist, and release it all at once…" A faceless man says, his hair a blur of silver and her words almost surrounding her. She can't place who he is, but she knows he means her. She can feel his surprise and awe in the tense air between them. "Without precise chakra control, she couldn't do it."_

_Lips twisting in a confident smirk, Sakura glanced up and flicked her hair, noting that for a moment she felt like everything she'd ever fought for was suddenly within her reach._

"_Kakashi-sensei… I found you."_

* * *

She awoke drenched in a cold sweat.

_Chakra control. _There it was again. She could actually _recall_ this memory-dream, even if it was still shrouded in a haze of mystery. Chakra meant little to her, as did the concept of controlling it—but it was there, in the back of her mind, the knowledge churning in the depths on her subconscious. Sitting up in her bed and allowing her sheets to pool around her waist, Sakura lifted a trembling hand before her and flexed her fingers, eyebrows furrowing as without a thought that strange thrum of warmth seared through her muscles. The core was focused in the palm of her hand, her knuckles burning and craving something to slam into, and for a moment Sakura simply reveled.

Was this, perhaps, the ki Vegeta had been trying so hard to have her find? Was chakra simply another term for that energy inside that she simply couldn't connect with? Goku and Vegeta both had been somewhat dissatisfied with her inability to fly, to harness the same power they'd both had. Her teacher was proud of her somewhat abnormal physical strength and speed, but Sakura was still painfully human when compared even to young Pan.

Something in her dream rolled across her mind and Sakura moved, standing to quickly drop her cotton slip and slide into something more efficient for her plans. Shimmying into white canvas shorts and a red top, Sakura simply opened her window and jumped, narrowing her eyes as she realised she'd been channeling this charka all along. The warmth spread to her legs and supported her feet, softening her blow in a way that she'd never even known she was doing.

Perhaps this was why she could take a hit from Vegeta and remain standing?

Narrowing her eyes, Sakura decided to put this strange development to the test. Pushing off from the grass where she'd landed, Sakura allowed the burning of her heart to race down and propel her forward, strength and speed seeming to multiply in an impressive feat as she sped toward the treeline by the back of the Brief's compound and beyond, lungs burning with exhilaration.

She lost track of how long she bounded forward, testing the limits of how quickly she could dash from place to place, from tree to tree—after a particularly fast burst forward, a term flickered into her concious mind and she stilled, skidding on the damp grass. Nearly falling to the morning dew coated ground, Sakura took a moment to mull over the phrase and look back at how much distance she'd covered. She wasn't even winded yet, but she couldn't even hear the sounds of the city behind her any more.

"Shadow-step, huh?" She couldn't recall the name of the man with silver hair that had taught it to her, but the basic mechanics were slowly filtering back into her memories. The ability to utilise one's chakra, encasing themselves and shooting forward within eyesight to appear in another location. Particularly useful at night…

Just who _was_ she?

Clenching her fist at her side in frustration, once more the burning desire to punch something poured through her, igniting her hand in an unforgiving flame that seared beneath her skin. Green eyes snapped open and Sakura screamed, a mighty bellow that encompassed her rage, her sorrow, her confusion… her desire to know why she could do this, who she was. Snapping her arm back and then thrusting it forward with every ounce of strength in her body, Sakura felt tears blur her vision and her throat crack with the force of her battle cry right before her fist met earth.

And then the world exploded.

* * *

"Where the hell is she?"

Vegeta was unimpressed with his student's uncharacteristic tardiness this morning. The sun was cresting the horizon and she was still nowhere to be seen. Clenching and unclenching his jaw as he fought to keep his short fuse under control, his dark gaze swung to meet Trunks' concerned eyes with little pity. Surely the girl had overslept.

"This isn't like her," the lavender-haired teen murmured with a frown, his lips twisting as he against found his eyes drifting toward the door of their home. Where was she? Sakura was always on time—hell, some days she was earlier than he was! His legs were itching to launch him in the direction of her window just to knock and see if she was even awake… "Dad, do you think—"

His words died on his lips as the front door opened, relief along with irritation seeping through his limbs as he stepped forward once, mouth already open to pick fun at her for being late after all the crap she'd given him every morning… but his mother instead stepped outside, pausing and staring at them from the distance. Even from there, Trunks could make out the troubled expression on her face and immediately his stomach dropped, his head snapping to look at his father in alarm.

Vegeta's expression was still fierce, but Trunks could see the way his eyes had widened minutely.

"Have you seen Sakura!?" Came Bulma's shrill bellow as she started towards them, blue eyes creeping along the horizon for any sign of the pinkette. "I stopped by her room just in case and saw her night gown on the floor, so I… figured… what's wrong?"

"She isn't in her room?" The Saiyan Prince's words were short and clipped, his frown deepening as he focused on his wife's own frown.

"No… I thought she was training…"

Trunks cursed under his breath and immediately shot into the air, head swiveling to see if maybe she'd simply started on her rounds and they'd missed her. Why did she have to be the anomaly without a power level, huh? Couldn't just be normal with normal hair and normal eyes and not disappearing in the middle of the night?

His father was beside him in a flash. "Your mother is contacting Kakarot. We're going to search the forest and that fool will take the city. Fan out and find her."

'_I'd almost think he cared if he didn't sound so pissed,'_ Trunks snarked internally, simply nodding before he shot off, dipping low and then zipping between the trees on the back half of their property.

Cerulean gaze flickered at every shadow, at every leaf that moved, and it wasn't until he was almost a quarter of a mile out that he stopped to asses deep gouges in the earth. They were moving forward, like something had kicked off and jumped with enough force to upheave the grass behind them.

"What… the hell?" Leaning forward, Trunks knelt to the ground and allowed his fingertips to touch the soil, surprised to find it actually warm to his touch. A familiar tingle against his digits sent recognition flaring through his mind, but he couldn't figure out why the sensation was familiar.

"What is it!?" Trunks, practically jumping out of his skin at the sudden boom of his father's voice, fought not to yelp and instead stood with a straight spin, eyes widening as he regarded him. Hadn't they split up…?

"I dunno. Warm though. Think Sakura's following whatever this is?"

Narrowing his eyes, Vegeta simply sped off again, leaving his flabbergasted son in his literal dust before the Briefs son took off after him. They sped together, winding between the saplings and large trees surrounding them, in silence, simply changing direction whenever those massive gouges did. Trunks had half a mind to speak up and ask Vegeta if they should keep going when a scream followed by a massive rumble shattered the silence between them.

The sound was Earth-shattering—like two great mountains had sped into one another and exploded upon impact. Trunks could hear the waterfall of debris crashing around them, narrowly dodging a large boulder that decimated the trees before them and went crashing into the darkness. Cautiously, Trunks moved forward before stopping dead at the destruction lying in wait…

Rocks and trees strewn across a makeshift clearing-turned-crater, practically larger than any football stadium he'd ever seen, steaming in the chilled morning air, while a single person stood directly before them at the edge. Her back was turned to them, but Trunks could see that she was breathing normally despite the grim coating her form, despite the blood steadily falling from her bruised and cut knuckles. Her unbound hair danced around her shoulders in the breeze as she took in the scene of destruction.

"Sakura…?"

He hadn't even realised he'd spoken, but at the sound of his voice he saw a tremor shoot up her spine before her shoulders went rigid and her arms began to quake. Slowly, as if afraid of looking at them, Sakura turned and stared at the two Saiyans before her with an unreadable expression. He could see a single streak in the dirt that marred her face, almost as if a tear had managed to sneak down her face without her realising, but she simply looked… powerful. Beautiful, even, surrounded by the destruction behind her.

"What did this?" He asked carefully, his senses reaching out to feel for any kind of enemy nearby and his eyes scanning the trees behind her. She was wounded and something had attacked her, he was sure. His eyes went back to her hand and he stepped forward, hands already reaching to grab her hand to inspect the damage. "Are you okay?"

She was silent for so long that even Vegeta was narrowing his gaze, watching her body language and simply coming forth with more questions than answers. She'd left the house early in training clothing—had she seen someone and pursued them? Had she been attacked? Something in her gaze told him no, and before Vegeta could snap at her to speak the hell up, she finally opened her mouth to speak.

"I did this."

* * *

**It's been a while! Thanks to everyone that's been sending me messages with encouragement. I know this took a long hiatus, but I've had some hectic stuff come up in life and had to make due. I hope this chapter was enjoyable; it's part one of two parts.**


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